


can i have this dance?

by ashes_unbiased



Series: so familiar a gleam [3]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Angst, Boys In Love, Curses, Dark Magic, Dream Team SMP Lore (Video Blogging RPF), Fae & Fairies, Fairy Tale Curses, Falling In Love, Immortality, M/M, Mental Link, Mind Control, Mind Palace, Minor Injuries, Purple Prose, Sleeping Beauty Elements, Web Series: Tales from the SMP, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:29:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29824959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashes_unbiased/pseuds/ashes_unbiased
Summary: The lone dissenter, clad in fine green, white, and black cotton, gold silks with a large, nasty looking sword on his hip that traveled down the entire length of his leg. He was sat upon a grand white stallion with one eyebrow raised surveying the 50 some soldiers whooping and hollering in the meadow, and George was mesmerized.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: so familiar a gleam [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2174568
Comments: 18
Kudos: 48





	can i have this dance?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mitikune](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitikune/gifts).



> dedicated to taro: a beautiful writer and a lovely friend. 
> 
> here is the third installment of 'so familiar a gleam', I know i said this was the last part but there's gonna be more, and it's gonna be so good!
> 
> if you want to stay updated about me and my writing, or scream at me about this, you can follow my twitter here: @/ashes_unbiased
> 
> follow snowy here: @snoweapl
> 
> songs i looped: (also if you're interested in listening along with me, my spotify is linked in my carrd on twitter)
> 
> Lana Del Rey - Once Upon A Dream  
> I. Allegro moderato - Franz Schubert  
> Youth - Daughter  
> Achilles Come Down - Gang of Youths

It was a misty morning in September when the Summit of Kingdoms happened. The castle was full of visiting dignitaries and royalty. George was only eighteen, and he decided to take a morning ride with his vanguard. The air had a sharp chill to it, and George adjusted the medallion clasp on his fur cloak to be tighter around his shoulders as they rode through the castle grounds. George hated visitors; all they were interested in seeing was if he could really wither things with a single touch like the rumors said. So he stayed by himself, tucked into corners of the castle with a book or hiding in the room so high above the rest of the castle that was his, stood on the balcony he could almost see into the Moors above the wall of fog that surrounded them perpetually. What George wouldn’t do to be able to wander inside the mysterious forest without the constant surveillance of his guards. He sighed and urged his horse a bit faster than the guardsmen.

“Stay back for a while. I want to be alone.” A chorus of agreements rose up from the group and filled his ears as he trotted forward alone. He didn’t get very far though, George yanked back on his horses’ bridle and came to a stop next to the tall silver gate that marked the edge of the land surrounding the castle. As George peeked between the bars of the gate, his pale grey filly huffed clouds of breath into the cold air. Suddenly, the air was filled with the sound of 35-50 horses galloping across the meadow behind him towards the stables. Their riders were loud and boisterous, tearing up the earth like they owned it, maybe they did for all George knew. They were all dressed in dark colors that George could never hope to describe, all blurring into a menagerie of muted shades in the meadow. An exception to the chaos caught George’s eyes immediately.

The lone dissenter, clad in fine green, white, and black cotton, gold silks with a large, nasty looking sword on his hip that traveled down the entire length of his leg. He was sat upon a grand white stallion with one eyebrow raised surveying the 50 some soldiers whooping and hollering in the meadow. 

George suddenly felt very exposed with the strangers in the meadow, and he whistled for his own soldiers who appeared at his side within seconds. The shrill whistle, however, had silenced the whooping soldiers and drawn the attention of the mysterious stranger, who watched George intently, his dangerous and fiery green eyes flicking to the gold crown nestled in George’s chocolate brown hair that was beginning to get wet with morning dew. His mask added an air of mystery to him, a simple white fabric shift with what the brunet could call a ‘smiling face’ over the mouth and nose. George noticed how the burning gaze of the stranger lingered on his own lips as he gently bit the lower one unknowingly, and the prince turned away with a fiery blush that he had to hide in the hood of his cloak. 

The thundering hoofbeats of the soldiers leaving tore directly across the meadow as the guards began escorting George back to the castle. His horse spooked at the sudden eruption of noise and tore across the meadow, without the guards and with George on her back. The wind in George’s face made his eyes water, so much so he couldn’t see where he was going. He simply held on for dear life, especially when his horse jumped the short wall surrounding the castle meadow and galloped into the large barrier trees of the Moors. It got dark quickly, as if the Moors hadn’t been awake yet. George faintly heard the sound of another horse easily catching up with his own, and someone grunting when they yanked the reins out of his grip. The pair of horses slowed down tremendously and George would have been fine, had the rescuer not accidentally spooked his horse again upon stopping her from bolting. She reared back on her hind legs in the breaking dawn light and George lost his footing in the stirrups, landing roughly in the dirt, momentum causing his body to roll away from the rearing horse and his rescuer. Who turned out to be the Masked Blond from the meadow on his white stallion. George felt the breath catch in his throat at the sight before him, cape fluttering and flowing as he settled the grey filly by circling his own horse around her, the white shift covering his mouth and nose sagging slightly from the run, wisps of damp honey colored hair peeking out from under the hood of his cloak and those eyes: beautiful green and gold flecked ones that reminded George of a precious gemstone set in gold. 

“Easy girl, there you go.'' The voice he heard comfort his horse was smokey and gentle, like he’d been working with horses since he could walk. George’s body felt like it was on fire after hearing his voice once. A splatter on his hand jolted the prince out of staring at the rescuer, and when he looked down at the back of his hand, it was covered in a few scrapes, dirt, and the blood from a new cut high on his cheekbone. He began to stand up and then the young man spoke again.

“Are you alright? You looked like you needed a rescue, especially since your guardsmen just sat there and watched. My mother's soldiers didn’t mean to spook your horse, honestly.” George felt uneasy, he didn’t know this person, and only visiting queens travelled with battalions that large.  _ Did he say mother?  _ George instantly drew the bow off his back and an arrow from the quiver on his hip, aiming it directly at his rescuer, who had since climbed down off his horse and began approaching George. 

“Whoa Easy,” he slips back into the calming lilt he used with the horses only a moment ago, like he can sense that George is on edge and will let his arrow fly if he comes any closer. “My name’s Clay, my mother is visiting your palace today, and I saw your horse bolt off and I came to help because you looked like you could use it. Please put down the bow.” 

George swallows, nods and shakily lowers his weapon, suddenly feeling dizzy. Probably from getting thrown from his horse. Warm arms lift him bodily off the ground, and suddenly he’s leaning back against his chest on his stallion, battered from the fall. Clay quickly canters both horses out of the woods, his cloak blowing in the created wind as they seem to soar across the still meadow with the gentle hoofbeats of their horses as the background noise. 

George wakes up hours later and it's late afternoon, but he barely remembers the encounter in the glen at all. A head injury isn't doing him any favors. It’s barely minutes before he’s swarmed by seven servants at least, fussing over his cuts, bruises, and the state of his hair as they encourage him into a bath with fresh lilac soap and oils for his sore muscles. He groans as soon as the hot water begins leaching the pain from his tendons and the dirt from under his nails, allowing the servants to begin their work.

After he’s cleaned up, he’s dressed in a soft royal blue doublet and matching charcoal slacks, a heavy red cathedral length cloak hanging from his shoulders embroidered with roses in shimmering gold thread at the edges. The crown they choose for him is also emblazoned with his family’s signature rose vines, erupting from the gold filigrees and encrusted in blue gemstones. Once they do a last look over of his appearance, he's pushed out the door. 

* * *

“Announcing the Arrival of His Royal Highness, the Prince of Noxfall.”

As he entered the main ballroom, he’s greeted by many eyes falling on him. Dukes, Duchesses, Generals, even Kings and Queens from neighboring kingdoms are able to be picked out among the fray of people in the ballroom. Most notably is King Phil, his Queen Kristen and his 4 sons, Wilbur, Tommy, Techno, and the youngest of all, Ranboo hiding in the pleats of their mother’s skirts. Techno and Wilbur are keeping pretty close together in the swamped ballroom, while Tommy chases another young boy with familiar honey skin and dark brown hair around King Phil and his Queen. 

Another prominent group is dressed in dark colors, accented in what George can only assume is gold. The battalion of soldiers he remembers from his ride earlier is surrounding an elegantly dressed woman and what appears to be 2 sons, Clay and a younger brunet. George takes his seat next to his father on the dais overlooking the people mingling in the ballroom and the woman and her sons begin to move through the ballroom, smooth as silk. Tommy and the boy he was chasing run into Clay who sweeps the smaller boy off his feet and tosses him into the air, giggling as he’s spun around in the air by his brother. It’s sweet, and George smiles softly to himself as he spins a ring around his finger. 

“Queen Cara Puffy, Ruler of the Moors and Shadowlands and her two-no, three sons, Princes Dream, Sapnap and Tubbo, My King.” the herald next to his father’s throne speaks quietly. The Queen before them is everything a queen should be, long curly blonde hair pulled back in a pair of braids to the back of her head, allowing her ornate crown of gold ivy to perch on the braids. Instead of the traditional ball gown worn by most of the ladies here, she’s wearing a half skirt, leather pants, ornately buckled thigh high boots and a cape longer than George’s own father’s that trails down the steps of the dais. The older princes are smiling at their younger brother’s giggling as he’s tossed into the air again. The two rulers greet each other pleasantly while the queen’s chair is brought to the upper dais, and once she’s sat down, Tubbo and Sapnap run off to find Prince Tommy again, allowing their mother to begin discussing important politics with George’s father away from the children. George feels a warm presence appear at his left side. 

“You actually look pretty when you’re all dressed up,” That smoky voice from the forest, murmurs into George’s ear again and he shivers when those familiar gemstone eyes are level with him, as the boy who rescued him kneels in full Netherite armor at his feet before manifesting a blue rose in his calloused hand. “I hope you’ll accept this as an apology for my men spooking your horse this morning.” It’s a delicate thing, blue petals seem to bloom infinitely out from its center point, crystalized dew drops frozen on the leaves. There are wicked thorns up the stem, certainly he would prick his finger and draw blood if he were to touch them. 

George is speechless, and he takes the gift without question. 

“Thank you for the gift and the apology.” George murmurs softly, like if he spoke any louder the moment would go away, as easily as wiping the condensation from glass. 

“In that case, can I have this dance, your Highness?”

When George’s eyes snap up to Clay’s, they are burning with mirth and an emotion he doesn’t recognize, an eyebrow raised as he smirks behind his white mask. George bites his bottom lip for a moment, before allowing himself to take this mysterious prince’s outstretched hand and lead him down the steps of the dais to the dancefloor. He can hear murmured whispers as he’s escorted down the steps, the cape making a beautiful picture.

_ “Isn't that the Shadow Queen’s son? He makes quite the picture with the King's son, don’t you think?”  _

_ “Do you think they have history together?”  _

Parties like these always have a way of farming gossip about the royals, so George simply tunes out the rabble and allows Clay, or rather Prince Dream to lead him to the center of the floor. Before they start, a servant comes and takes the cathedral length cape off, replacing it with one that simply brushes the floor barely, more suited to dancing. The entire ballroom is silent, as Dream pulls him close and makes him feel like he’s floating. The music starts and Dream tucks the brunet impossibly closer, his lips brushing the shell of his ear. 

“So, a little bird told me that you want to visit the Moors, and experience the magic?” The words are said in an undertone so soft that George barely catches them, however, Dream tilts his chin up to force eye contact between them and dips George low, the crown of his head almost touching the floor before he’s brought back up to look into those eyes again. 

“I can take you there…” Their lips are just barely ghosting each other, and Dream’s hand is still on his chin. They begin to lean in but a loud shattering of glass and clanging of metal echoes through the ballroom and startles George out of the stupor. Confused at the sudden noise, he instantly looks up into the eyes of the woman who had trapped him here. 

And all at once, the memory of meeting Dream fades into the murky depths of his Curse and George wakes up under the surface of familiar brackish water. 

A voice rings out in his head, familiar and painful to George. “If you think you can escape  _ my _ Curse, simply by replacing the painful memories with good ones, you'll have to try harder than that, little prince.” 

George feels something grab his ankle and drags him down into the darkness below where he’d been treading water for 100 odd years now. He feels like he can’t catch his breath, like his lungs are filling with disgusting swamp water. The algae is sticking to his throat as he tries to swallow air, and when only decayed water rushes in, then he really, truly begins to panic. 


End file.
